


Never Comes the Day

by LongLiveLaura



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2009-11-19
Updated: 2009-11-19
Packaged: 2017-10-03 09:14:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LongLiveLaura/pseuds/LongLiveLaura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Bill ends his romantic relationship with Laura, subsequent events strain their platonic and professional relationships.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set after _Unfinished Business_.

The hour was late and Laura Roslin was attempting to finish several days' worth of paperwork so she could finally crawl into bed, get some much needed sleep. She sat at the desk in her temporary quarters aboard _Galactica,_ long legs bare, curled underneath her in the chair. The only light in the starkly furnished cabin burned from the gooseneck lamp atop the desk, illuminated only the piles of paper and Laura's hands as she put her signature to one last document.

She dropped her pen onto one of the stacks in front of her, pulled her glasses off her face and set them down beside it. She leaned back in her chair, rubbed her temples then stretched her arms above her head and yawned. As she tipped forward to right herself, the comm unit buzzed from the wall behind her. Laura continued her forward motion, folded her arms on the desk and let her head fall heavily onto them with a groan.

Unable to ignore the incessant buzzing, Laura sat up, put her feet on the floor and pushed off, propelling herself backwards toward the bulkhead. When her chair collided with the wall, she reached up and snatched the receiver from the cradle.

"Roslin," she said wearily.  
_  
"I hope I didn't wake you, Madame President," _spoke Tory Foster in her clipped tone from the other end of the line.

"No, Tory," Laura sighed, slouched in the chair. "I was just looking over a few reports. What's up?"

"_I thought you'd want to know that Wallace Gray has been pouring whiskey down his throat in Joe's Bar for the last couple of hours," _Tory said, disdain evident in her voice. "_He's drunk. And he's becoming belligerent."_

Laura closed her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose.

"_I'm sure you can guess what he's railing about," _the presidential aid sighed.

After her most recent interaction with Wally, Laura had a pretty good idea about what had driven the man to drink tonight. She could only imagine the vitriol spewing from his alcohol-loosed lips.

"I'll be right there," she said with a resigned sigh, replaced the receiver into its base on the wall at her back and rose from the chair. She looked longingly over at the rack, knew she wouldn't be slipping beneath the covers there anytime soon.

Laura tucked her pink blouse into the waist of her skirt, fastened the two buttons she'd earlier undone and bent to retrieve her shoes. After sliding her feet into the heels, she ran a hand through her hair as she walked over to open the hatch at the front of her guest quarters.

When she stepped over the threshold and into the corridor beyond, the four marines posted outside snapped to attention. If they were surprised to see the president heading out at zero-two-hundred, they didn't show it. Two of the soldiers fell quickly in behind Laura as she charged down the hall, the other two remained behind to ensure the continued security of the president's temporary accommodations.

****************************************

Wally Gray had been Laura's good friend during the time she'd spent in President Adar's administration on Caprica, before the attack on the Colonies. They had worked closely together, enjoyed days off visiting museums, going to the theater or symphony, dining out. The two had rekindled their friendship on New Caprica and he'd been one of the very few people with whom she and Bill had socialized there, had trusted with the true nature of their relationship. During the Cylon occupation and her separation from Bill, Wally had been solicitous of Laura in her lover's absence. He'd often walked her to or from school, accompanied her to the market, made sure she ate. Though Laura hadn't discussed the resistance movement with Wally, she'd been sure he'd known of her involvement and had been concerned for her welfare. He'd been frantic upon her release from detention and she'd actually had to calm _him._

Though they'd seldom had time to interact socially since their rescue from New Caprica, Laura had seen her friend regularly, as he was involved with the government's allocation of resources and was often aboard _Colonial One_ attending meetings. It was after one of those meetings with the president, a week following "The Dance " held aboard _Galactica _, that Wally had stayed behind to catch up with Laura. He'd asked after Bill and she'd confided in him that Bill had severed his personal relationship with her, had cited the same reasons he'd given his crew from the ring. Laura had admitted that she was having trouble adjusting to the loss of intimacy, that she hoped time and distance would dispel the awkward tension she felt in dealing with Bill now in a strictly professional capacity.

She and Wally had shared a meal after that and he'd offered encouraging words of support, had lifted her spirits by recounting lurid bits of fleet gossip he'd heard. Laura had spent much of her precious free time with him over the next three weeks, had been thankful for Wally's company on what would otherwise have been lonely evenings. She'd enjoyed reminiscing with him, laughing about their many shared experiences in the world of Caprican politics - she'd enjoyed the simple pleasure of having a friend again. Laura had welcomed the distraction Wally's visits brought and had begun to look forward to their time together. Until he'd kissed her. Professed his love for her.

Laura had been genuinely surprised by his action, his admission, _shocked_ by his subsequent explosive reaction to her firm but gentle rebuff. Though he'd turned red with the effort he'd put forth in shouting at her, had overturned a chair and threw a lamp in his rage, she hadn't been afraid of him; rather, wounded by his hateful words. She'd been horrified when her security guards had dragged Wally, literally kicking and screaming, from her quarters.  
That had been two days ago.

****************************************

When Laura arrived at Joe's Bar, marines in tow, she turned to the two guards in her detail, put her hand up to halt their forward progress into _Galactica's _improvised watering hole.

"I'm going in alone," she declared in her most authoritative voice, dropped her hand to her hip, fixed each of them with a glare, daring them to challenge her.

They dared.

"We can't let you do that, ma'am," Corporal Pryce stated matter-of-factly, began to detail the security risks of leaving the president unattended.

Laura rolled her eyes, looked up at the ceiling and shook her head at the tired argument she was about to enter into with her marine guard. Seeing movement off to the side out of the corner of her eye, she whipped her head around to see Saul Tigh heading straight for her - well, straight for the entrance to the bar, where she just happened to be standing.

"Colonel Tigh!" she greeted him brightly, effectively cutting off Corporal Pryce's recitation.

Both marines watched as Laura approached _Galactica's _First Officer, linked her arm through his and smiled brilliantly up at him. Tigh was taken aback by the president's exuberance at seeing him, blinked his eye rapidly, looked down to where her slender wrist, pale hand rested on the sleeve of his uniform jacket.  
"Uh, Madame President," he replied, flicked his gaze up to her face and leaned his upper body away from her without dislodging her arm. He stared at her suspiciously, eyebrows raised, as though he thought she might be hitting the chamalla again.

"Gentlemen," Laura said, addressing her guards, "Colonel Tigh is more than capable of protecting me from any danger that may present itself. He'll be my escort - won't you Colonel?"

Tigh looked back and forth between the marines and the president, caught the pleading look in Laura's eyes. She squeezed his arm, attempting to prompt him into agreement. The XO cleared his throat, raised his other arm across his middle, patted Laura's hand and turned to Corporal Pryce.

"I'll take her from here, men," he said, nodding. "You two take up position here and I'll make sure she gets back to you in one piece."

Laura graced them with a sugary smile, walked through the entrance with Colonel Tigh and left the marines assigned to protect her to fume at having to follow the Colonel's orders.

****************************************

As soon as the odd couple were out of sight of the president's security detail, Tigh and Laura dropped their arms as well as their pretense. She looked down at her skirt, smoothed her hands over phantom wrinkles in the fabric while the Colonel inspected the tops of his boots.

"Thank you, Colonel, for, um, helping me with that," she stammered, jerked her head in the direction of the entrance through which they'd just come.

"Uh, yeah. No problem. Happy to oblige," he replied, looked over her shoulder into the crowded space, then snapped his one-eyed gaze to Laura's face. "You don't really want me stickin' to your side in here, do you?" he asked.

Laura laughed, his displeasure at the thought of having to spend any more time with her obvious.

"No, Colonel Tigh, thank you, no," she chuckled. "You're free to go. Enjoy yourself."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, gave her a curt nod and made a bee line for the makeshift bar.

As she took a few hesitant steps forward, Laura scanned the room for her assistant. Her heart rate ratcheted up a notch when she spotted Tory standing beside a table on an elevated section of the floor. The young woman stood, both arms outstretched, between Wally Gray and Lee Adama in what appeared to be an attempt at keeping the two men from lunging at each other. Kara Thrace sat at the table, looked on with amused interest. Laura strode purposefully over and up to the table, a knot forming in the pit of her stomach as she drew nearer.

"You're father's a _stupid_ frakkin' prick, isn't he?" Wally shouted at Lee across the table.

"What did you just say?" Lee asked incredulously, leaning menacingly forward into the firm press of Tory's hand against his chest.

"The dumb bastard _let her go_,"Wally said with disbelief, shook his head. "She _wants _him and he let -"

"Excuse me," Laura interjected from behind Tory, cutting short her former friend's diatribe. "Is everything okay over here?" she asked politely.

"Laura - what are you doing here?" Wally asked excitedly, knocked Tory's arm out of the way, stepped around her, stood directly in front of Laura and took her hands in his.

Lee took a step back from the table, sucked in a calming breath, bent over and placed his hands flat on the surface, shook his head at Kara. Tory heaved a sigh of relief at the sudden detente, turned to face her boss.

"Madame President," she acknowledged gratefully, dipped her head slightly at Laura.

Having extracted her hands from Wally's clammy grip, Laura turned towards Lee and Kara.

"Major Adama, Captain Thrace," she started, "If you'll excuse us, I need to have a word with Mr. Gray."

As he pushed off the table to stand upright, lifted his gaze to meet Laura's, Lee slowly nodded. His face twitched with the effort of keeping his anger in check.

"Of course, Madame President," he said, jaw clenched, turned to look at Kara.

Kara stood, drained what remained of her drink, slammed the empty glass down on the table, glared at the man who'd antagonized Lee.

"Need a refill anyway, Madame Prez," she said and she and Lee stalked off in the direction of the bar.

"Oh, Laura," Wally slurred, "It's so good to see you. I've missed - "

"Tory," Laura cut in, "is there someplace more ... private Mr. Gray and I might talk?"

****************************************

Wally had happily followed Laura to the back of the bar, behind a wall which served to separate the main barroom from the head around which the lounge had been built. She'd led him to the corner, past the entrance to the facilities, so as not to be interrupted by the flow of traffic in and out of the bathroom. The lighting was dim, the music muffled to a degree that allowed conversation at near normal levels.

"Gods, Laura, thank you for coming here tonight. It's been killing me, not being able to see you," Wally whined, stepped so close to her that Laura could smell the alcohol on his breath. He dragged his eyes slowly up her body, put his hands on her upper arms, slid them up to rest heavily on her shoulders.

"Wally -"

"I'm so sorry, Laura - I should never have lost control like that. It's just that I -"

"_Wally_," she said more firmly, gained his attention. "You're drunk," she stated plainly. "You should go sleep this off. We'll talk in the morning."

"No," he replied bitterly. "We won't talk in the morning - you won't even _see _me, take my calls."

"Take your hands off me, Wally," she ordered.

He tightened his grip on her, his fingers dug into her flesh as he spoke and she tried to shrug out of his grasp.

"Why, Laura, still holding out for _Bill Adama?" _he mocked. "He doesn't _want _you. He threw you over for - what? - duty?"

"You're hurting me -"

"Then we're even, Laura," he whispered harshly, his hot, sour breath in her face and she stiffened. "I've loved you for _years_," he continued, "while you wasted your time on that ungrateful frak Adar, then Adama," he sneered.

"Let me _go," _she commanded, voice icy.

Wally laughed balefully, forcibly pulled Laura to him, wrapped his arms around her narrow form in an unyielding embrace, smashed his mouth down on hers. Laura began struggling in earnest, attempted to push him away but her hands were trapped tightly between their bodies. She clamped her lips shut against the barrage of his probing tongue, rolled her head to the side to escape his vile mouth. Wally groaned, licked the side of her face and pressed his hips into her. The revulsion that swept through her at feeling his erection against her belly fueled her struggle and she broke free of his hold, staggered back a couple of steps and breathed in precious air denied her by his crushing grip.

Laura wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, threw him a deadly glare and made to move around him. Wally snaked a hand out, grabbed her wrist and yanked her back to him.

"You only give it up to men in positions of power, Laura? That your thing?" he asked scornfully, mouth pressed into her hair. "You gonna make _me_ take it?"

She took a quick step back, slapped him hard across the face.

"Frak you," she spat, eyes burning with contempt.

Wally launched himself at her with a quickness she wouldn't have thought him capable of in his inebriated state. He crashed into her, slammed her against the bulkhead behind her, knocked the wind out of her. Laura tried sucking in a breath, felt a stab of pain at her ribs, as Wally came at her again. When he dipped his head, attempted to capture her mouth again, she drew her leg up and kneed him forcefully in the groin. Wally bent at the waist, put his hands on his knees and squeezed his eyes shut while Laura continued to draw ragged breaths into her burning lungs.

She turned her head, eyed the distance between her and escape. Before she could take a step away from him, Wally swung his arm up in a wide arc, struck Laura in the face with a powerful backhand. As her head snapped back on her neck, her vision blurred, went to white with the searing pain of the blow.

****************************************

Tory Foster had been trying to persuade him that his altercation with Wallace Gray was simply the result of the man's having drunk too much, but Lee Adama remained unconvinced. He knocked back two drinks as he sat listening to the president's aid make weak excuses for Mr. Gray's behavior, none of which accounted for the slurs against his father. When Lee realized he wasn't going to get a straight answer out of her, he excused himself, left Tory and Kara perched on their stools.

He walked distractedly in the direction of the head at the back of the bar, still puzzled as to the real reasons for the man's outburst. Lost in thought, Lee didn't notice until it was too late that Colonel Tigh had stepped into his path. As both men approached the wall designed to hide the bathrooms, Lee ran into the back of the XO.

"Hey, watch it,"  Tigh grumbled, turned around to see who'd jostled him.

"Sorry, Colonel," Lee offered. "I didn't see you there."

"Yeah, well, I hope you pay closer attention when you're flyin' our birds, Major."

The younger Adama rolled his eyes at the back of Tigh's head as he rounded the corner, only to bump into his superior again as the Colonel had pulled up short without warning. As he stepped up to Tigh's side to apologize again, Lee saw the bewildered look on his face, his one eye squinting into the darkness beyond the hatch to the head. Lee followed his gaze, didn't have to squint to know what he was seeing.

"Is that -" Colonel Tigh started.

"Oh my gods," Lee cursed and took off, Tigh following closely on his heels.

When the two officers reached them, Wallace Gray had the president pinned to the bulkhead with a hand at her throat. Her face was bloody, her mouth open, eyes wide and she clawed at the hand around her neck. Her shirt gaped open, the white strap of her bra clearly visible on one bare shoulder. The skirt she wore had been pushed high on her thighs and her attacker had his free hand between her legs.

Lee grabbed Wallace Gray by the back of his collar and hurled him violently to the deck with a feral growl. When the son of a bitch scrambled to get up, Lee drew his arm back, intended to knock his head off, but Tigh moved more quickly. The Colonel dropped onto Gray, grabbed him by the lapels of his suit coat and pounded his fist into his face.

Satisfied that Colonel Tigh had Gray under control, Lee turned back in time to see the president sliding down the wall, gasping for air. Her legs splayed out in front of her as she hit the floor, her hands fell to her sides and her chest heaved with her desperate effort to draw breath. Lee went over and dropped to his knees beside her, swept his eyes over her body, tried to assess her injuries without touching her. He saw that the blood on her face had come from her nose - probably broken - and that her lower lip had been split and was swollen. He noted the angry red marks ringing her neck, continued quickly past the exposed skin of her chest and belly, down over her skirt. When he saw the smear of blood on her inner thighs, he closed his eyes and dropped his chin to his chest.

"Frak," he muttered.

"She alright?" Tigh asked urgently, throwing the question over his shoulder so as not to take his eye off the man he'd subdued.

"Madame President," Lee said gently, placed a hand softly on her shoulder.

She slid her eyes up to meet his but didn't turn her face to him. She nodded her head almost imperceptibly, closed her eyes and let her head fall back to the bulkhead. Lee could see that she was breathing shallowly and rapidly, feared she might hyperventilate, lose consciousness.

"Madame President," he soothed. "It's okay. You're okay. I need you to take deep breaths -"

"- Can't," she croaked, shook her head. "Hurts."

Lee glanced back at Tigh, his expression grim. Colonel Tigh had knocked Wallace Gray unconscious, rolled him to his side and was binding his wrists with what appeared to Lee to be his own shoelaces.  
When he turned his attentions back to the president, she'd raised her arms and was attempting to shrug her bare shoulder back into her blouse. She winced when she arched away from the wall, settled back against it and dropped her hands in her lap in defeat.

"Here, let me help you," Lee said quietly.

He leaned across her body and tugged her shirt back on, pulled the plackets together in front to cover her. When he looked up at her face again, he saw tears welling in her green eyes before she blinked them back.

"Thank you," she rasped, slid her hand into his. "Help me up," she ordered, voice hoarse, and pushed off the deck with her other hand.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Madame Pres -"

"Into the head," she said, cutting off his protest. "Before someone comes."

Lee lifted her arm, ducked under it and slid his arm around her back. He rose slowly from his crouched position, Laura's arm draped over his shoulders. She hissed in pain a couple of times on the way up, got to her feet with Lee's help.

"Where the hell is your security?" Lee asked, suddenly curious as to why she'd been alone with that man.

In the process of withdrawing her arm from around Lee's neck, Laura locked guilty, apologetic eyes on Colonel Tigh.

"Godsdamnit," he swore, "The Old Man's gonna have my ass."

"Not your fault -" she said, cleared her throat, " - Colonel."

Lee looked back and forth between the two of them, brow knit in confusion. Before he could ask either of them for clarification, Laura began walking gingerly towards the bathroom door and the Major moved to support her with a hand on her lower back. When they'd crossed the threshold into the head, Laura turned to Lee, smiled nervously.

"Thank you, Major, I'll be fine. Just need to ... clean up," she said, clutching the front of her shirt to keep it from falling open.

Lee hesitated, thought it unwise to leave her alone but knew his continued presence would make her more uncomfortable than she already was.

"I'll go get Tory," he said. "You'll be okay 'til I come back?" he asked skeptically.

"Yes, I promise," she assured him, pointed to the door. "Go."

As soon as Lee exited the head, Laura walked unsteadily to the row of metal sinks, gripped the edge of a basin with both hands, hung her head and let the tears fall from her eyes. Gods, she hurt. Her head was pounding, her whole face ached, she couldn't take a breath without sharp, shooting pain - and the crying wasn't helping. She looked up into the mirror, quickly closed her eyes at the reflection.

'_Wally Gray did this to me,' _she thought incredulously. _'Motherfrakking Wally Gray.'_

Resolute, Laura grabbed a handful of paper towels from the nearby dispenser, wet them and began to wash the blood from her face.

****************************************

After having spoken to Colonel Tigh, agreed that the XO would stay behind to ensure the president's privacy in the bathroom and keep an eye on Gray, Lee set off to locate Tory Foster. He and Tigh had quickly decided not to alert the president's marine detail to the exact nature of the incident, but _would_ assign them the task of hauling Wallace Gray to the brig.

Lee made a cursory scan of the remaining crew and civilians in Joe's Bar, saw that Starbuck hadn't moved from where he'd left her but wasn't immediately able to lay eyes on Tory. As he advanced on Kara's position, he silently berated himself for not having taken down Wallace Gray when he'd had the chance. Had he laid the man out before the president arrived, she wouldn't have had to intervene in their argument. Hell, if he hadn't been so preoccupied with his anger at Gray's confrontation, he would have insisted on staying at the president's side while she dealt with the drunk.

When he reached Kara, Lee put his hand on her shoulder, asked her where Tory had gone.

"Dunno," she replied, shrugged. "Don't think she's very comfortable around me -she took off right after you left to go take a leak."

"Godsdamnit," Lee cursed.

"Why, what's up?" Kara asked, curious about his obvious agitation.

He sighed, rubbed his forehead, looked somberly at Starbuck.

"Kara, something's happened," he said, "And I need your help."

She stood up quickly, turned a worried gaze on Lee.

"What's wrong, Lee?"

"That guy?" he started, "The drunk who got in my face earlier? He ... he attacked the president."

"_What_? Where is that frakker?" Starbuck asked, nostrils flaring, head swiveling on her neck, suddenly spoiling for a fight.

Lee grabbed her hands, gained her attention again in doing so.

"Kara, he's been taken care of. Colonel Tigh's got him under control and I'm gonna have the president's marines drag him down to the brig," he said carefully.

"So -"

"The president," he interrupted, "She's in the head. I don't know for sure what kind of shape she's in and I need you to go in there and check on her."

"What? Why?" she asked disdainfully. "Why don't you just ask her yourself?"

Lee looked at the floor, took a deep breath and exhaled in a rush.

"I think he was trying to rape her, Kara," he said quietly.

"Oh my gods -"

"Yeah. He roughed her up pretty good, ripped her shirt," he looked at Kara as he continued. "I think it's better if, you know, a woman -"

"Lee," she cut in, "I'm no good at that kinda stuff, and she's the frakkin' president. What the hell would I -"

"Shut up," Lee bit out. "Shut up, Kara. I don't give a frak if you're _'no good at that kinda stuff._' I need - _she_ needs_ -_ someone, right now, who can be trusted and can go in there and help her out. You're it, so suck it up."

Kara looked chastened, didn't resist when Lee pushed her in the direction of the head, went willingly though reluctantly.

****************************************

By the time Lee returned with Laura's guard, Colonel Tigh had unbound Wallace Gray, had him propped up against the bulkhead.

"This guy's plastered," he said, hooked a thumb indicating Gray. "Threatened the president."

"Where is President Roslin, sir?" Corporal Pryce demanded.

"Ladies room - she's not alone," Tigh placated. "Captain Thrace is with her, she's just fine."

"If you don't mind, sir, I'd like to confirm that with my own eyes."

"Hell, _I _don't mind, but the president just might," the Colonel warned. "Suit yourself," he said, waved Pryce to the door.

The marine put one foot in the door to the bathroom, saw Starbuck standing outside the closed door to one of the stalls, narrowed his eyes.

"Madame President?" he called.

"Yes, Corporal?" came her irritated voice from inside the stall.

"Are you okay, ma'am?"

"I'm fine, Corporal Pryce, aside from the fact that I'm having a conversation with _you_ while I'm trying to pee."

The anger in her voice reverberated throughout the tile and stainless steel facility.

Corporal Pryce reddened, mumbled an apology and quickly stepped from the room. Kara turned and pushed the metal door in, looked down at Laura, seated on the toilet with her head in her hands, a little conspiratorial grin on her face.

"That got rid of him," she said wryly.

"Thank the gods," Laura replied, pulled herself up with a hand on the toilet paper dispenser.

Kara backed out of the way to allow Laura a clear path back to the sink, was surprised when she turned on her heel and ran back into the stall.

"Frak," Kara mumbled under her breath as Laura dropped to her knees, held her hair back with one hand and began retching into the bowl. She noticed that every time the president heaved, she tightened an arm around her ribs. Kara dashed to the nearest sink, grabbed some paper towels and wet them, returned to the bathroom stall. Laura had crossed her arms over the toilet seat, laid her head on top of them, was shivering.

"I, uh, brought you a damp paper towel," Kara said from the doorway.

Laura raised a hand, reached blindly back for the proffered item, didn't lift her head. Kara stretched and placed the wet rag in Laura's shaking hand, watched as she turned her head and wiped her mouth.

"Thank you, Kara" she said faintly, sat slowly back on her haunches.

"Yeah, no problem. You ready to -"

Laura lurched forward and began vomiting again, cradled her ribs with both arms wrapped around her body as she retched violently. Kara hesitantly stepped in behind her, gathered her long curls at the back of her neck and held her hair out of her face.

When Laura was through emptying her stomach and sat back to wipe her mouth again, Kara could see that she'd been vomiting blood.

"Madame President," she said, softly, uncharacteristically, "We've gotta get you outta here, over to sickbay."

Laura nodded her head in acknowledgement of Starbuck's statement, but held a hand up, index finger extended to forestall the move.

"Okay. It's okay," she said, tossing the paper towel into the toilet. "I feel better - I'm okay now."

She kept one arm wrapped protectively around her ribs, pushed herself upright with the other braced on the toilet seat. She bent to flush the contents of the toilet bowl, winced at the movement. When Laura turned to leave the confines of the stall again, Kara put her hand on her elbow but Laura waved her off.

"I'm fine, Kara, really," she said.

"Yeah, you look it," Kara snorted.

Laura, ashen under the remaining blood and the blossoming bruises, still managed a glare. Kara threw her hands up in mock surrender, watched as the president turned toward the sink. She twisted the tap open and when she bent carefully over to rinse her mouth with a slurp of the running water, her blouse hung open. Kara stripped off her outer tank, approached the sink as Laura stood and looked in the mirror.

"You're right, Captain," she said flatly. "I look like hell."

"Yeah, well, no one will notice your face if you walk outta here flashin' that lacy bra," Kara said sarcastically, held her tank out for Laura to take.

Laura turned, leaned against the sink and shrugged out of her buttonless shirt, one arm at a time, let it fall to the deck. She took Kara's black tank top and made to pull it over her head. She hissed air in through her clenched teeth, dropped the top and clutched at her ribs.

Kara snatched the tank up off the floor, walked up to stand directly in front of Laura. She held it in both hands, reached out and pulled it down over Laura's head, stretching the neck to make sure it didn't come into contact with Laura's tender nose.

"Keep your arm tight against your side and just raise your hand so I can slip it through the sleeve," she directed.

Laura did as she was told, slowly, and Kara helped her into the military issue tank. When she stepped back, Kara noticed a sliver of pale skin showing above the waistband of Laura's skirt. She reached out, tugged gently on the hem of the tank top, tried to breach the gap in fabric as Laura looked at her. Kara gave up, frustrated when the top continued to pull up.

"It's fine, Kara," Laura assured her. "Thank you."

"It'll work," she agreed.

"Now," Laura sighed, "How do I get out of here without everyone in the bar seeing me?"

"We're taking you out the back. And the corridors should be pretty much deserted, so we're hoping for a clear path to sickbay," Kara told her.

"Is he -"

"Colonel Tigh had your guards carry him out through the bar, told them he was drunk, threatened you," Kara explained. "Just looked like they were draggin' another drunk outta here - happens every night."

"Okay. Good," Laura nodded, took her weight off the sink, stood upright and started to head for the door.

"Madame President," Kara said, stared at Laura's legs. "You've got -" she started, put her hands on her hips, looked down and closed her eyes. "Did he -"

"No. No, no he didn't," Laura saw the dried blood above her knees, stopped Kara from having to ask. "Wally - _Mr. Gray - _wears a ring. I think he must've scratched me, that's all."

As she talked, Laura walked over and scrubbed the blood from her legs with one of he paper towels she'd left on the sink. She pitched the towel in a can near the exit, turned to Kara.

"Shall we?" she asked, motioned to the door.

Kara nodded once, bent to retrieve the president's ruined shirt, marched past Laura and pulled the hatch open.

****************************************

Having successfully snuck President Roslin out of Joe's Bar and into sickbay, Lee, Kara and Colonel Tigh were awaiting the arrival of the Admiral. Lee had placed a call to his father's quarters after Doc Cottle had taken custody of the president, told him there'd been an incident and that he was needed in sickbay. When his dad had tried to wring more information from him, Lee had said it was a security matter that couldn't be discussed over the comm. He'd also put a call in to Tory Foster, left word for her to contact sickbay when he'd been unable to reach her directly.

"The Old Man's gonna freak out," Kara said to no one in particular.

"That's the understatement of the year," Tigh scoffed.

"What do you expect?" Lee snapped, "I mean, the president's been attacked on his ship," Lee snapped.

"Yeah, that, and his _girlfriend's _been _sexually assaulted_, you idiot," Kara retorted, disgusted.

"Nah," Tigh chimed in, "they're not frakkin' any more. Old Man broke it off with her over a month ago."

"Seriously? I didn't -"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Lee cut Kara off. "What the frak are you talking about? My dad ... and ... the _president?"_

"Yeah, kid," the Colonel sighed. "They'd been pretty hot and heavy since New Caprica. But that's over now - has been."

Lee stared at the two of them, wide eyed.

"You honestly didn't know?" Kara asked incredulously.

"I had no idea," Lee replied, shook his head. "Why didn't he tell me?"

"Ah hell, don't get your panties in a bunch, Major," Tigh said. "They kept it quiet, that's all. 'Sides, wasn't anybody else's business."

"You two knew," he whined.

Kara rolled her eyes, slapped her hands down on her thighs, exasperated by Lee's hang-up at not having been in the loop.

"Who gives a frak!" she yelled, remembered her surroundings and lowered her voice. "The point is, Lee, that Admiral Adama's gonna be pissed off, yes, that President Roslin was attacked on his ship. But _Bill_ Adama'sgonna freak the frak out when he finds out that _Laura _Roslin was nearly raped."

"_What?"_

Lee, Kara and Colonel Tigh all spun around on hearing the unmistakable gravelly tone of the Admiral's voice as he'd come up behind them.

"Admiral -" Kara began.

"What the hell's going on?" he demanded gruffly.

"Dad," Lee said. "We have a ... situation. The president was ... attacked tonight. At Joe's Bar. Colonel Tigh and I -"

"_Attacked?"_ the Admiral asked, voice dangerously low. "I heard Starbuck. She said -"

"No," Lee cut in. "No, dad, she ... wasn't. Colonel Tigh and I got to her before ..."

"Who?" The one-word question was spoken ominously, quietly, the Admiral's eyes blazed behind his glasses, his lip twitched.


	2. Chapter 2

"Who the frak _was it?"_ the Admiral demanded, stepped uncomfortably close to his son.

"That pansy Wallace Gray, if you can believe that," the Colonel supplied.

The Admiral narrowed his eyes, fixed his XO with a deadly glare and the muscles in his face quivered from the force with which his jaw clenched.

"_Wally Gray?" _he ground out, balled his hands into fists at his side.

"Oh, good, the gang's all here," Doctor Cottle grumbled facetiously as he stepped out from behind the curtain which separated his patient from the rest of sickbay.

The four officers immediately turned their anxious faces to the gruff, white haired doctor who'd addressed them. He removed a cigarette from a pack in the pocket of his lab coat, put it between his lips, lit it and took a long drag.

"How is she, Doc?" Lee asked on behalf of the assembled parties.

"She took a beating," Cottle replied, acid in his voice. "But that woman's tough as hell - she'll be alright. I'm gonna keep her here for a couple hours for observation - she's got a nasty bump on her head. But she should be able to get outta here this afternoon."

Cottle drew another lungful of smoke, exhaled a bluish cloud and met the fiery gaze of his superior. He knew the Admiral well enough to see the apprehension behind the anger in his eyes and the bad-tempered doctor felt a sudden twinge of pity for the man.

"She wants to see you, Admiral, but keep it short. She wouldn't let me give her anything for the pain until she talks to you and I've still gotta ..." Cottle trailed off, looked down at his boots. "I've gotta sedate her to take care of one of her injuries - the sooner the better."

The grouchy doctor turned on his heels and headed off without another word. The Admiral glanced at the curtain beyond which Laura Roslin lay, then looked back to the others.

"You three stay here," he commanded. "I'll wanna talk to you after I've seen the president."

Tigh, Lee and Kara acknowledged his order with nods of their heads, each turned in search of a seat, settled in to wait. The Admiral crossed the short distance and disappeared behind the blue drape.

**********

When he first laid eyes on her, Bill's guts twisted at the sight of Laura as she lay propped up with pillows on the narrow bed. Her eyes were closed and her brow furrowed, as if she were concentrating intensely - though he recognized the expression for what it was: a grimace born of trying to fend off pain. And from the looks of the woman, he had no doubt she was in pain. The normally porcelain skin of her lovely face was already discolored with the beginnings of dark bruises under her eyes, her bottom lip was swollen, split but no longer bleeding, and dried blood clogged her nostrils. Her slender neck bore blotchy marks, red with purpling edges. Her left hand rested atop the sheet on her belly, the middle finger braced with a splint. And for the first time since he'd known Laura Roslin, Bill thought she looked ... fragile.

When confronted with the physical evidence of Laura's brutal assault, the fury Bill had felt since learning of the attack threatened to come to a head. He could imagine just what she'd been through, at the hands of Wallace Gray, simply by mapping her visible injuries. He knew she'd been struck in the face at least once, had mostly likely been choked and he guessed that she'd broken a finger in attempting to fight back. Bill was overcome with rage at the thought of that man - _any man - _having committed such an act of violence against Laura as to cause the considerable damage he was seeing. He tore his gaze away from her, stared at the floor as he tried to banish the images of the attack his mind had conjured. He began to breathe in through his nose, out through his mouth, a steady rhythm designed to quell his boiling blood.

"Admiral."

Bill's head snapped up on hearing Laura's quiet greeting and he worked to keep his face neutral, his emotions in check.

"Madame President," he returned, stepped up to the side of her sick bed, took her uninjured hand in his.

She cast a quick glance down at their joined hands, looked back up to lock eyes with him. The whites of her eyes were striated with broken blood vessels, the green of one eye nearly obscured by a pool of blood that had leaked from one of the many burst capillaries. The small smile she had for him looked ghoulishly out of place on her battered face.

"You should see the other guy," she quipped.

"I plan to," Bill said darkly, ignored her attempted levity.

"Bill, don't," Laura said wearily, winced as she tried to shift her position. "I'm not ... going to press charges."

"What are you talking about?" he asked, narrowed his eyes. "That son of a bitch -"

"Listen to me," she interrupted. "Wally knows about my relationship with Richard, my relationship with _you."_

"What the hell does that have to with anything?"

"Bill," she sighed. "If he's charged with a crime, we'll have to get him a lawyer, put him on trial -"

"And?" he cut in.

" - _and _I don't want ... I can't have that information coming out during court proceedings."

"Laura - "

Laura pulled her hand from his grip, lifted it to cover her eyes.

"Bill, I cannot allow him to undermine my presidency or cast doubt on your leadership," she said quietly, a slight tremor in her voice.

Bill hung his head, raked a hand through his hair.

"We can't just let him go, Laura, let him walk right back to his life like nothing's happened -"

"No, of course not," she agreed in a whisper, raised her other arm and swiped at the sudden tears in her eyes with the heels of her hands.

His anger and frustration evaporated as he watched Laura struggle to regain her composure. He sat on the edge of the bed, tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her temple. Her control appeared to break at Bill's tender touch and she wrapped her arms around his neck, clung tightly to him, pressed the side of her face into his shoulder and cried soundlessly. He slid one arm around her shoulder, the other between her head and the pillow beneath.

"Oh, Laura," he whispered sorrowfully into her hair.

As he held her, Bill's heart clenched at Laura's rare display of emotion. He wasn't able to offer her any soothing words, feared he'd lose the tenuous grip on his own control if he attempted to speak. He cradled her head, let her cry until a hiccupped sob caused her to flinch in pain. He carefully removed his hands from her body, watched with concern as she eased back into the stacked pillows with her eyes squeezed shut, wrapped an arm around her ribs and wiped at her face with the other hand.

"You okay?" he asked quietly. "You want me to get Cottle?"

"Broken rib," she explained, shook her head in response to the second part of his question. "It just hurts when I cry," she sniffled. "Or breathe," she added with a crooked smile.

Bill chuckled as he stood to retrieve a box of tissues from the table beside her bed. He pulled a couple out and handed them to Laura who nodded her thanks and began to dab cautiously at her wet eyes. She hissed when she attempted to wipe her broken nose, crumpled the blood-tinged tissue and dropped her hand to her lap.

"I'm sorry, Bill," she said, stared at her fingers as they worried the used tissue. "I'm just ... a little frakked up right now, I'm sorry."

Before Bill could respond, Doctor Cottle pulled back the curtain and stepped through, waved a medic in after him.

"Get her IV drip going, Ishay," he brusquely directed the young woman, nodded to Laura. "We've gotta get you sown up, young lady," he said more softly than usual.

"Great," Laura muttered, held her arm still while Ishay pushed a needle into a vein on her hand.

"You're not gonna feel a thing," the doctor assured her as he tugged metal stirrups from the end of the bed and locked them into place.

"What ... " Bill started to ask, pointed to the addition Cottle had made to the bed.

Doctor Cottle looked up at Laura, raised his eyebrows at her in silent question. When she closed her eyes and nodded her consent, Cottle turned to Bill, tossed his head indicating the slit in the curtain he'd just come through and headed back out.

"I'll see you later," Bill said to Laura, turned to follow the doctor when she'd acknowledged his words with a curt nod.

**********

When Doctor Cottle and the Admiral emerged from behind the drape, Lee and Kara rose from the hard plastic chairs they'd occupied and walked over to join them.

"Well?" Lee asked.

"The doctor's about to fill us in," Bill replied, took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. "Where's Colonel Tigh?"

"He went up to check on things in CIC," Lee said and Bill nodded, returned the glasses to his face.

"Okay, what's her condition?" he asked of the doctor.

"The president hasn't suffered any internal injuries," Cottle sighed, "But she's got -"

"Wait, Doc," Kara interrupted. "No internal injuries? You sure? 'Cuz she threw up a lot of blood."

"She was throwing up -" the Admiral snapped his head toward Starbuck, began to question her statement.

"As I was saying, there are _no_ internal injuries," he raised his thick white brows at Adama, turned to Kara and said sarcastically, "I'm _sure."_

"Then what - "

"I'm gonna ask that all questions from the peanut gallery be held until I've finished," Cottle said, irritated by the interruptions.

The Admiral, Lee and Kara all nodded their heads in acceptance of the grumpy doctor's terms.

"Go on," Bill ordered.

"There doesn't appear to be any permanent damage to her trachea, but the president has two broken ribs, a broken finger, a knot on the back of her head," he informed the group. "Her nose has been broken and as I'm sure you all know, trauma to the nose generally results in excessive bleeding - she _vomited_ blood because she'd _swallowed _a lot of it," he said, looked pointedly at Kara.

He lit another cigarette, sucked on the end while the officers took in what he'd said. The Admiral fixed him with a stare, the junior officers looked first at each other, then back to him. Cottle exhaled, shook his head and wagged a finger at Lee when he appeared ready to ask a question of the doctor.

"Not done yet," he warned. "In addition to a split lip and various cuts and contusions, her rapist inflicted a -"

_"Rapist?"_ the three people to whom the doctor was speaking simultaneously chimed in a stunned chorus.  
   
The Admiral turned on his son.

"You said -"

"The president told me she had not been ... raped," he offered quickly in his defense. "But ..." he broke off.

"But _what?" _his father growled.

"But..." Lee went on hesitantly, _"_There _was_ blood ... ah, between her legs, on her thighs, when I found her."

Bill closed his eyes, sucked in a shaky breath at what his son had to say and some of the color drained from his olive-toned face.

"She told _me_ that the guy wore a ring," Kara interjected, "That he ... scratched her with it."

Bill grunted, shook his head at her explanation and Kara thought maybe she'd been too willing to accept the president's excuse. She turned back to Doctor Cottle when he cleared his throat.

"If I may?" he asked rhetorically, sighed. "Rape is, by definition, a physical invasion of a sexual nature committed on a person by force. The _invasion_ in this case was done by hand."

He paused, let his words sink in.

"This asshole Gray _did_ have a ring on one of his fingers," Cottle continued angrily. "And because he was so ... rough -"

"_Motherfrakker_," Lee mumbled.

" - the irregular ridges of the ring lacerated the vaginal wall," he said. "That accounts for the blood between her legs. And it's a hell of a lot more than a scratch - gonna take about ten stitches to close."

"Gods," Kara muttered, shook her head.

Lee watched as his father's face went stony on hearing the last bit of news.

"Now," Cottle went on, "Like I said, the president should be released later today, but I'm gonna want to keep her close - is she still staying on _Galactica?"_

"Yes," the Admiral replied, nodded. "The maintenance work on her ship won't be complete until the end of the week."

"Good," the doctor said. "I gotta get back to work."

"Keep me posted," the Admiral said absently as Cottle turned to go.

Lee put a hand on his father's shoulder, angled his head to search his weathered face.

"How ya doin', dad?" he asked softly, worriedly.

"I'm fine," he quickly responded, swiveled his head back and forth between Lee and Kara. "Now who's gonna tell me _how the frak_ this happened?"

**********  
After having listened to both Lee's and Kara's accounts of the night's events, Admiral Adama was once again consumed with savage fury. He stood stock still, stared at a spot above Lee's shoulder as Lee and Kara fidgeted with nervous anticipation, waited for an explosive reaction.

Tory Foster, who had arrived in sickbay while Bill had been back with Laura, sat dazed in one of the chairs off to the side.

"Why was the president at Joe's Bar in the first place?" the Admiral asked slowly, put the question to the three young people.

"I called her," Tory whispered, looked up at the others.

"Why?" Bill asked, narrowed his eyes at the aid.

"It's a long story," she sighed, shook her head from side to side.

"Give me the abridged version," he demanded sharply.

Tory nodded, looked down at her clasped hands, appeared to be deciding how to begin.

"The president had been spending a lot of time with Mr. Gray since, ya know," she eyed the Admiral meaningfully "you and she ... "

"Got it. Go on."

"Well, he apparently read too much into it and went berserk when the president tried to set him straight."

"What do you mean, exactly?" Bill asked  
.  
"Mr. Gray ... kissed the president, said he was in love with her," Tory clarified. "And he went frakkin' ballistic when she rejected him - screamed at her, threw stuff, threatened her. Security had to forcibly remove him from her office -"

"When was this?"

"Two days ago," she answered. "Then I saw him in the bar, drunk and alternately bad-mouthing and crying over the president - he made quite a scene. That's when I called her. And she came down to deal with  
him - _because I called her."_

The young woman's dark curls bounced as she shook her head, horrified by the fact that she'd been complicit in Wallace Gray's attack on the president.

"Why wasn't I informed of the altercation on _Colonial One?"_ the Admiral asked angrily.

"She didn't want you to know," Tory answered easily, shrugged her shoulders. "She wasn't afraid of Mr. Gray, said he'd cool off."

Bill closed his eyes, sucked in a calming breath before he opened them again.

"I wanna keep this under wraps for now," he said. "Major, arrange a detail to safeguard the president's secuirty while she's here."

Lee nodded, "Yes, sir."

"Miss Foster," Bill addressed Laura's aid, "You're gonna have to clear her schedule for today, say she's sick - whatever. And she'll need a change of clothes for when she's released - can you take care of that?"

"Yes, sir," Tory replied, stood. "I'll get right on it."

"Kara, I want you to stay here. Let me know as soon as Cottle has an update."

As Kara nodded, moved to take a seat outside the president's "room," the Admiral turned and stalked quickly towards the exit. Lee jogged to catch up with him, grabbed his father's arm to pull him to a stop.

"Where are you going, dad?," he asked suspiciously.

Bill shrugged out of Lee's grip, glared at him.

"To the brig," he bit out, set off down the corridor at a brisk clip.

"_Frak," _Lee cursed under his breath. He turned around, hurried over to the nearest comm unit.


	3. Chapter 3

Bill charged through the corridors, oblivious to the fact that the crew he passed gave their commanding officer a wide berth, made a hole without having to be asked or ordered, because the fury he was feeling rolled off him in palpable waves and no one wanted to get caught up in the Admiral's dangerous undertow.

He was enraged by the actions of _Wallace frakkin' Gray_ \- that the man had taken advantage of Laura's vulnerability (after Bill had pushed her away), that he'd abused her trust in him, incensed Bill nearly as much as did the physical pain Gray had inflicted upon her. In addition to his betrayal of their friendship and subsequent brutal attack, the fact that Wallace Gray had forced Laura into the position of not being able to seek justice for the violence committed against her fueled Bill's burning hatred of the man. Gray was willing to use his intimate knowledge of Laura's life to render her defenseless, to ensure his freedom from prosecution, and that made what he'd done all the more abhorrent as far as Bill was concerned.

As he continued his mad march to the brig, anger at the others involved in the night's events washed into the turbulent sea of Bill's thoughts. Lee, who'd left Laura alone with the obviously drunk and disorderly Gray; Saul, who'd conspired with Laura in ditching her security detail and had left her unprotected in an unsecure location; Tory, who'd known about Laura's altercation with Gray aboard _Colonial One _and had called her to Joe's Bar in spite of it.

Bill was also angry, however irrationally, with Laura; first, for having failed to advise of him of the altercation with Gray aboard _Colonial One._ Regardless of the status of their personal relationship, she, as president, should have informed him, as admiral, of the threat to her safety. Bill was also mad at Laura for having gone to the bar, ditching her detail and going with the obviously drunk and disorderly Gray to an isolated area.

He knew that Wallace Gray alone was responsible for his reprehensible actions. Still, perhaps naively, Bill believed that had Lee, Saul, Tory and Laura herself adhered to established and proven protocol, the despicable incident might have been avoided.

Despite his desire to assign blame elsewhere, Bill felt the weight of his own culpability in the matter like an anchor tied to his neck. His having ended his romantic relationship with Laura had set in motion the whole chain of events, had caused the vulnerability that opened the door for Gray's advances and eventual attack. If he'd had the courage to face the fear that his feelings for Laura might affect his leadership abilities, Bill would never have walked away from the closeness they'd shared. As a result of his cowardly actions, Laura had sought comfort from a man who proved himself unworthy of her friendship in the most heinous of ways.

It was, Bill knew, _his_ fault that Laura was lying bruised and broken in sickbay. And on top of everything else, he hated Wally Gray for having saddled him with the burden of that guilt.  
The swirling tide of his emotions had carried Bill through the long corridors from sickbay all the way to the brig. He pried open the hatch to the shipboard stockade, stepped purposefully through the opening intent on extracting his own brand of justice.

  
********************

  
 

Laura had changed out of the ugly yellow backless hospital gown into the black pants and burgundy blouse Tory had brought her, sat stiffly on the edge of the bed and listened as the young woman ticked off details of the tasks she'd accomplished while the president had briefly rested.

Her chief aid had met with Vice President Zarek, advised him of the circumstances surrounding the president's stint in sickbay and her desire to keep the situation out of the press. Tory and Tom had invented a believable cover story - that President Roslin had been on board a Raptor which experienced a mechanical failure and was forced to make an emergency landing. Tory had written a press release that "recounted" the hard landing in which the president "and several others" sustained minor injuries. Tom had assured the press pool from behind the podium aboard _Colonial One _that President Roslin was resting comfortably in _Galactica's _sickbay, having suffered a broken nose in "the accident."

"They bought it," Tory said confidently in reference to the press corps. "Vice President Zarek will be keeping some of your meetings today and tomorrow, the rest have been rescheduled."

"Thank you, Tory," Laura said gratefully as Doctor Cottle pulled back the curtain and approached her.

"I'm not happy about letting you leave so soon, but since you _insist, _I've got some instructions for you, young lady," he grumbled.

"I'll just be outside, bringing Captain Thrace up to speed," Tory said, left through the opening in the drape when Laura nodded.

"Now," Cottle began, sat down heavily in the chair opposite Laura's position on the bed. "These are not _suggestions, _Madame President. I expect you to do as I say - got it?"

"Yes, sir," she replied with as much of a smirk as she could pull off.

"Alright then. First, take one of these - " he held up a plastic prescription bottle, "every four hours, as needed, for pain."

"Every four hours," Laura repeated, nodded.

"Secondly, no sex for the next two weeks," he said, seemed to consider his words then amended, "No _vaginal intercourse _for the next two weeks," finished, looked pointedly across at her from under his raised eyebrows.

Laura returned the doctor's glare with one of her own.

"That won't be a problem," she said evenly.

Doctor Cottle eyed her skeptically, sighed. He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a cigarette and stuck it between his lips. He patted his other pockets until he located his lighter, put flame to his vice and inhaled deeply.

"We both know that bedside manner isn't my strong suit, and I'm sure as hell no counselor," he said, puffs of smoke accompanying each word out his mouth. "_But..." _he said, appeared to be unsure of how to continue.

Laura waited.

"Victims of sexual assault often have a hard time reestablishing intimacy - "

"Doctor - " she ineffectually attempted to interrupt.

" - and that's normal," he plowed on, looked down at his hands, "But I don't want you to let this thing come between - "

"_Doctor," _she said more loudly, knew she'd gotten his attention when he jerked his head up, met her gaze. "I won't have a problem ... _abstaining_ _from sex_ over the course of the next couple of weeks because I'm not ... sexually active."

"I thought ... you and the Admiral aren't - ?" Cottle furrowed his brow, gestured with his cigarette before he raised it to his mouth and took another drag.

"No," she said quietly, turned her head and looked down at the floor. "No, not any more."

"Okay, then," he shrugged, "Like you said - not gonna be a problem."

"No," she confirmed.

"Moving on - "

"Please, gods," she mumbled.

"You can ice the nose if ya want, but it's not necessary," he continued. "Get plenty of rest, drink plenty of fluids and come back to see me in two weeks."

"I will, Doctor, thank you," she said, got slowly to her feet as Cottle stood.

"Call me in the mean time if anything comes up," he said, turned and walked off.

Tory reappeared as Laura reached out and plucked her glasses from the bedside table, made to put them on out of habit, thought better of it, folded them and hung them from the front of her shirt instead.  
"Ready to go, Madame President?"

"Yes, Tory, thank you," she answered as Tory bent to retrieve from the floor the bag she'd earlier brought Laura.

"Oh," the dark haired woman said, dug around in the bag and pulled out Laura's silk scarf. "I almost forgot."

She shouldered the bag, stepped up to stand directly in front of her boss. Tory threaded one end of the printed scarf between Laura's hair and the back of her neck, pulled it carefully around to the front of her shirt, evened up the lengths of both ends and tied them together gently at her tender throat. She fussed with the fabric until she was satisfied it covered the deepening bruises on Laura's neck, stepped back and smiled.

"There we go," she said.

Laura returned her aid's smile sardonically.

"Did you bring a bag to put over my head?" she teased and Tory laughed.

"No, Madame President," she chuckled. "We don't need to cover the injuries you sustained as a result of the Raptor accident."

Despite the absurdity of the situation, Laura smiled at Tory's theatrical wink and the two headed out.

  


********************

  
 

Corporal Venner jumped to attention from behind his desk, snapped off a salute when the Admiral stormed into the brig.

"At ease, Corporal," he rumbled, turned to level his narrowed gaze on the prisoner behind bars.

Wallace Gray had regained consciousness and appeared to have sobered up in the hours since he'd been "escorted from" Joe's Bar. He'd removed his sport coat and it hung over the end of the cot, had loosened his tie and undone the button on the collar of his dress shirt. He sat on the thin mattress with his back against the metal bulkhead, his arms wrapped around his legs and his head on his knees.

"He given you any trouble?"

The Admiral's quiet question was posed to Corporal Venner though he continued to stare into the cell in front of him.

"No, sir," replied the marine.

"Leave the keys to the cell door and wait for me outside," the Admiral ordered.

"Sir?" Venner questioned reluctantly.

The CO swung his head around and glared menacingly at the guard.

"You have a problem with your hearing, soldier?" he asked through clenched teeth.

"No, sir," Venner answered. "It's just that Major Adama gave strict instructions -"

"I don't give a frak _what _Major Adama said!" he barked. "Youfollow _my _orders, Corporal, or you'll be spending time on the other side of these bars, you got that?"

"Yes, _sir_."

"Now put the keyson the desk and get the _frak_ outta here."

The Admiral's venomous tone and deadly glare clearly expressed his disgust at having to repeat himself.

Corporal Venner unclipped the keys from his belt, set them on the desk and hurried to the exit with his tail between his legs.

As soon as the hatch closed behind the departing marine, Bill scooped the key ring off the desk, turned back to face the cell in which the prisoner was confined and met the hesitant eyes of Wallace Gray. He'd risen from the cot to stand in the center of his enclosure and Bill took a long, hard look at the man. He felt some satisfaction in seeing the cut above Gray's eye, the swelling of his jaw and lip, the fear in his eyes. When he noticed the dried blood that dotted the other man's shirt, Bill's nostrils flared and he ground his teeth. '_That could be Laura's blood.' _When Gray shifted his weight from one foot to the other and clasped his hands in front of him, Bill's attention was drawn to the bulky class ring on the man's left hand. Doctor Cottle's graphic description of Laura's injuries came hurtling back to him, crystallized his rage and propelled him into action.

"How's Laura?" Gray asked, cleared his throat of the slight waver in his voice.

Bill shot him a murderous look, turned the key in the lock and flung open the cell door. Gray didn't flinch when he stepped over the threshold, rather, raised his chin in what Bill interpreted to be defiance. Silently seething, Bill turned his back on Gray, wrapped his fingers around the bars of the cell door and slowly slid it closed.

"If you're here to - "

Wallace Gray didn't get the chance to finish whatever it was he'd been about to say. Bill whirled around and landed a crushing blow to his face, the force of which knocked Gray to the floor. He crouched over the prone man, grabbed him by the front of his shirt and shook him.

"She _trusted _you, you frakkin' piece of shit, and you _hurt her," _Bill ground out, slammed Gray's head to the deck with a sickening thud. As Bill raised his arm to hit him again, Lee threw open the barred door, grabbed his father under the arms and hoisted him roughly up and off the prisoner.

"Dad!" he shouted, tightened his grip when Bill began to struggle against him. "Don't do this, dad. It won't help - just ... stop. It's not worth it."

Bill's chest was heaving as much from the effort to free himself as from the effort to rein in his blood thirst as Wallace Gray pushed himself into a sitting position. He spit blood, turned toward Bill, shook his head and laughed.

"Hypocrite," he said scornfully, grabbed the foot of the cot and hoisted himself to his unsteady feet. "You godsdamned hypocrite."

Lee felt his father sag almost imperceptibly, felt more of the Old Man's weight press into his chest.

"She trusted _you, _too," Gray sneered, wiped the fresh blood from his nose with the back of his hand. "_You _hurt her, too, Bill," he accused.

Bill recognized the ugly truth in that statement, knew that Laura's trust in him had been shattered, her fragile heart battered when he'd selfishly put an end to their romantic involvement with nothing more than a bullshit excuse. But he refused to allow the man who'd _raped _her to compare the two situations.

"I never tried to take something from her she didn't want to give," Bill spat out.

"You didn't _have to," _Gray countered bitterly. "Laura _gave _you everything she had! Her loyalty, her heart, her body -"

"_Shut the frak up_," Bill warned dangerously, strained against Lee's grip.

Wallace Gray laughed, shook his head.

"Those nights on New Caprica?" he started, grinned lasciviously and Bill stiffened in Lee's grasp. "I sat outside her tent, ya know. Heard you in there frakking her, heard her cry out and call _your name_ when she came -"

Gray flinched when Bill lunged for him, laughed again when Lee managed to hold him back.

"Let's get outta here, dad," Lee said, dragged Bill back a step with great effort and glared darkly at Wallace Gray.

" - I'd go back to my tent, her voice ringing in my ears, jerk off -"

Bill's fierce growl rose to drown out Gray's offensive words and when he lunged for him again, Lee loosed his hold and let his dad go.

  


********************

  
 

The first thing Laura wanted to do upon reaching her quarters aboard _Galactica_ after having been released from sickbay was take a shower. She sent Tory to work, stripped slowly and carefully out of her clothes and stood under the hot spray for longer than was generally decent. She ignored the little voice in her head that tried to remind her of the importance of water and energy conservation, figured she deserved the indulgence after all she'd been through. The overall effect of the steaming shower was that Laura's aching body seemed to relax, though she experienced some pain in raising her arms to wash her hair. When she finally twisted the handles to stop the flow of water and stepped from the shower, she felt both literally and figuratively cleaner. Some of the filth, fear, guilt and disgust she'd felt since Wally had ... _assaulted _her was circling the drain along with the previous day's normal accumulation of grime, the lingering antiseptic smell of sickbay.

Laura hissed and cursed at the stab of pain in her ribs when she bent forward, but managed to twist her hair in one of the gray bath towels before she reached for the other and began to cautiously pat herself dry. She wrapped the second towel around her body, tucked one end under the other to secure it under one of her arms and crossed the threshold into the combined living/sleeping area of the guest quarters.

She jumped, cried out in alarm then doubled over in pain and clutched at her ribs when she nearly ran into Bill.

"What the hell are you doing, Bill?" she demanded raggedly, straightened but kept an arm around her ribs, batted the hand away he'd reached out to her. "You scared the shit outta me!"

Over Bill's shoulder, Laura noticed two of the marines from her security detail who had apparently accompanied the Admiral in his attempt to determine the state of her well being. One of the two guards, she realized, was Corporal Pryce - one of the marines she'd tricked into letting her into Joe's Bar with Colonel Tigh. He openly gawked at her cuts and bruises, all the injuries he could see because she was nearly naked before the three men. She saw the change in his expression when the fact that she was decidedly undressed, that he was staring at the bare arms, shoulders and legs of the president, registered with Corporal Pryce. His eyes widened, his jaw snapped shut and the marine turned six shades of red before he averted his gaze.

"I'm sorry, Laura," Bill said with a sigh. "You didn't pick up when I tried to get you on the phone so I came over and when you didn't answer the door -"

"Are you gonna break down the door every time you can't get in touch with me now?" she asked, moved her hands to tug the towel up higher over her breasts.

"No," he said calmly. "I was just worried that you might have -"

"Worrying about me is no longer your responsibility, Bill," she sniped.

Bill pulled the glasses from his face, pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. When he'd been unable to raise Laura on the comm upon his return to his quarters from the brig, he'd been just fractionally concerned. He'd taken a shower, shaved, redressed in a clean uniform, checked in with Saul in CIC and tried again to call her. The second time his call went unanswered, concern turned to all-out worry and he'd quickly made his way to her temporary quarters. He'd been nearly frantic when Laura hadn't responded to his repeated raps at the hatch, had feared the worst - that she'd succumbed to her injuries and was physically unable to respond, that the psychological trauma of what had happened to her had reduced her to an uncommunicative state. With those thoughts flashing rapid-fire through his mind, Bill had thrown open the hatch and stormed into the cabin, marines in tow, terrified of what he might find inside.

Though she was clearly pissed at the intrusion, Bill was relieved beyond measure to see Laura standing under her own power, in complete control of her faculties. He could deal with her ire.

"Thank you," he said by way of dismissal to the two marines, slid his glasses back onto his craggy face.

They obediently turned and exited the president's quarters, sealed the hatch behind them.

When he turned back to Laura, Bill ignored the raised eyebrow, the arms crossed over her chest, the indignation her entire stance portrayed. He stepped up to stand in front of her, scrutinized the bruises under her eyes, already darkly purpled since he'd seen her in sickbay, the swelling of her normally delicate nose. He dropped his gaze to the darkening skin of her throat, swallowed audibly on seeing marks there that were obviously shaped like the fingers Wallace Gray had used to choke her. He noticed some slight discoloration around the toned bicep of one of her arms, a nasty looking bruise on one of her knees.  
Laura shifted, uncrossed her arms and grabbed the towel at her chest with both hands, uncomfortable under the weight of Bill's close examination. When he flicked his eyes up to engage hers, he saw the spark of anger recede, the suggestion of embarrassment slide in, and his heart ached for her.

"Are you okay, Laura?" he whispered.

She blinked her bloodshot, blood-stained eyes, nodded slowly.

"I'm fine," she said, a tad too brightly. "A little sore, but Cottle gave me something to take for the pain."

Bill took another step closer to her, put his hands gently to her upper arms.

"That's not what I meant."

"I know what you meant, Bill," she sighed. "And the truth is, I'm not sure _how _I'm feeling."

"You wanna talk about it?" he asked.

"No," she replied flatly, shook her head, turned and walked back into the head.

He watched her retreat, noticed her stiff gait and felt his anger flare at the thought of Wally Gray's ring, the damage it had done to Laura's tender flesh . Bill followed after her a moment later when he heard Laura suck in a loud breath, issue a curse. He stopped short of crossing into the bathroom, watched as, her back to him, she struggled with her thick white bathrobe.

"Can I help you with that?" he asked from the doorway.

She ceased her futile attempt at getting into the garment and slumped her shoulders in apparent acceptance of defeat.

"It's not like I haven't seen you naked before," Bill chuckled, moved to stand behind her.

Laura looked forlornly over her shoulder at him and he immediately regretted the insensitive comment, was unable to keep her sad gaze and looked down at his boots. When he saw the towel she'd been wrapped in puddle on the deck, Bill raised his head. Laura stood naked before him, her head bowed slightly, and held the robe out to her side.

Bill took the robe from her hand, helped her arms into the sleeves, pulled the thick terrycloth up and over her shoulders without a word. He kept his hands on her shoulders as Laura belted the robe in front.

She whispered a reluctant "Thank you," remained still until Bill turned her gently around to face him.

He reached up and pulled the towel off her head and her wet hair fell free in a mess of tangles.

"Go sit down," he ordered softly, turned to hang up both towels as Laura walked gingerly from the head.

Bill snapped off the light and moved out into the living area of her temporary quarters just as Laura was lowering herself onto the little couch there. She watched him cross the room, lifted the corner of her mouth in a half-hearted smile when she saw that he carried her hairbrush. He sank down onto the cushion beside Laura, motioned with a swirl of his index finger for her to turn around in her seat. She complied with his non-verbal request, pulled one bent leg up onto the couch and put her back to Bill.

When he began to pull the brush through her hair, Laura tipped her head back, closed her eyes and hummed at the soothing sensation. Bill expertly ran the bristles from the crown of her head to the end of each thick lock, worked the knots out gently as he did so. With practiced ease, he laid aside each section of smoothed hair, moved on to the next tangled curl until he'd skillfully brushed out the entire glossy mane.  
Before she was aware of what she was doing, Laura pressed her back into Bill's chest, tipped her head back to rest on his shoulder when he slid his arms around her waist. Only when he kissed the sensitive skin behind her ear did she become fully and painfully cognizant of the fact that their embrace belied the strained nature of their newly platonic relationship.

The sudden fear she felt at having so easily and willingly fooled herself into forgetting that everything had changed between them turned Laura's stomach. She jerked up and away from Bill, winced and hissed as her broken ribs protested the hasty action, slowed her movements as she turned to face him.

"Why are you here, Bill?" she asked plaintively.

"I told you," he said, puzzled. "I wanted to make sure you were okay."

"You can see that I am. Why are you _still _here?"

Bill blew out a long breath, nodded his head and took her hand in his.

"Laura," he said, looked pleadingly into her eyes. "I ... miss you. I made a mistake and I -"

"Stop," she commanded, withdrew her hand from his grasp and stood more quickly than she should have, began to pace stiffly . "Just ... stop."

Bill remained seated, hung his head.

"I know I hurt you, Laura, and I'm sorry. But I lo -"

"Don't you _dare," _she interrupted icily, stopped to stare down at him. "Don't you dare say it, Bill." 


End file.
